Don't Mention It
by BrookeSutter
Summary: Clarke/Bellamy: Bellamy complicates things for Clarke and she doesn't know if she likes it or not. Feedback makes me happy!
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

She does not agree with the saying, "I'm willing to die for my freedom" she thinks you have to be willing to kill for freedom. Dying is not an option when one is _important _for survival—important for victory. The fight, the victory—that's what mattered. Clarke was not a fool, she knew people died in war…she just did not see the point in dying for a cause, when killing delivered the message more severely. She never thought that way before she landed on Earth. She never thought of battle strategy before she had to, either. But there she was in the small tent with Bellamy, her hair pulled up sloppily and her jacket discarded on the ground by her feet. She had a death grip on the pencil in her hand as she wrote on a scrap of paper. It laid flat against the table one of the kids, who knew something about wood work, crafted for Bellamy as a peace offering. It was another late night and she felt as if her head were going to shatter into a million pieces if Bellamy asked her to explain herself one more time.

Her writing started to shake as Bellamy started to fidget restlessly. She peered up at him, he ran his hand across his face, fighting sleep so they could finalize the guard shifts and the _Action Plan _in case they were attacked in the middle of the night. She stopped writing but continued to speak to him slowly because she was distracted by him. "…but I wouldn't put Alec and Mali in the same guard shift. According to Octavia, Mali and Alex are going through the 'what-are-we' phase and—stop looking at me like that, I know what I'm talking about." But she was the one staring at him, studying his mannerisms and taking it his rugged expression. He shook his head after a quick second of looking into her eyes.

"I did not realize you had time to gossip with Octavia." Bellamy started pretending to be a major dick, "I'm out there busting my ass and you're what? Sipping tea and talking about the relationship statuses around camp? Real fucking perfect." Bellamy was a grumpy when he was exhausted but Clarke knew it was a façade. They kept searching each other's face, kept waiting for each other to say what was really on their mind. They were in a high-stress situation…they could easily fall into arguments that would be regretted by the morning. "What?"

"If this plan wasn't imperative to the camp's survival, I would leave you here to finish it yourself. I find the time to talk to your sister…I apologize for not having sex with every member of the opposite sex like you do. I guess because we do different activities during our down time that makes me unproductive." She fired back with a frown. Her searching gaze faded because she did not know what she was looking for on his tan skin. "Back to guard shift...Alec works well with Miller. Mali works well with Monroe. Simple fix."

Bellamy's face was in a permanent frown, "I don't sleep with every girl in camp." He was annoyed with her accusation. "In fact, I haven't—"

"A healthy percentage, then." Clarke put the pencil down, rubbing both hands across her features before she yawned. She did not see how his face softened at her small natural actions. She did not see the small smile on his lips while her face fell from "stern-leader Clarke" to just "tired Clarke"—the girl who gets amazed by small phenomena and has a passion for artistic things. "I really don't want to talk about what you do three feet away from this table right now…or ever, for that matter. You're a dog and everyone knows it."

He snorted before he reached across the table and took the pencil she dropped and reviewed what she'd written on the paper. He nodded along with the words on the page but Clarke was starting to question if he was actually reading them or not. At some point, the words started to shrink before her and twist and turn—and she got an hour of sleep in the drop ship before she started this meeting. "It looks decent." He commented, his voice less aggravated.

"Decent? Would it kill you to say that I'm good at this?" She began to argue.

He groaned, "Can we not fight?" They were doing a lot better with suppressing their anger although it got out of hand at times.

"Bellamy Blake does not want to fight. Let me make a note of this really quick." She snatched the pencil from him. She pretended to write down the information until Bellamy's strong hand took the end of the pencil and pulled it out of her hand. He chuckled as he moved it around his fingers. "What?" She asked, a small laugh moving through her lips.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes." He leaned across the table and continued to smirk. "You're quite different when it's late and you're tired."

"I think you're saying that because you're tired, too." She informed him with a smirk on her lips, "Might want to shut up before you break down a few walls and hate me in the morning because you don't know how to keep your mouth closed."

"I wouldn't hate you in the morning. I think I would _really _like you." He said suggestively, triggering a frown from her. He winked before he set his face in a thin-lipped smile. "Seriously."

"Seriously think we're done for the night." Clarke breathed uneasily, gathering up her things before extending her hand out for the pencil. He put the pencil in her hand, grabbing her wrist and rubbing his thumb along the sensitive skin. "I don't know what you want, Bellamy." She nearly whispered, "But I know it's not me."

"How?"

"I'm just convenient, Bellamy." She said quieter than before, "You have needs and they impair your common sense. I'm leaving." He continued to rub circles into her skin until he released her. "I won't mention this ever…" She said before she departed the tent, her eyebrows furrowing as she battled confusion.

_No… _


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

It was a habit.

Her nimble fingers ran across the recovered canvas, the pads of her fingertips touching the textured paint with a familiar, satisfied smile.

Art was a habit.

A buffer from her real problems.

_Why did he have to do that? _

The undeniable heat pulsed through her stomach, rising to her cheeks until she was certain she was red. Why did he have to do that? To make her think of him in such an inappropriate way…to imply that he had a fraction of feeling for her that surpassed their partnership. The circles he traced in her delicate skin burned her like a brand, only visible to her and her alone as she tried to _focus _on style and composition of the painting.

What type of material?

What's in the paint?

Why did they choose to paint flowers, of all things, during a nuclear war?

Her thought process prevented her from hearing the footsteps, or her name being called, or even the low whistle at the painting she was glassily staring at. The steady _thump, thump, thump _of her heart stopped beating the moment someone's boney hands landed on her shoulders. She acted on pure reflex when she brought her arm back and quickly punched whoever put their hands on her. She realized too late that it was her friend not one of the dangerous criminals.

"God damn!" Jasper yelled, pinching the bride of his crooked nose "Did you just—you just broke my nose!" The crimson stream ran down the curve of his lip, dripping steadily down his face. She was frozen for a second, her thoughts swimming with tinges of humor. He looked like a hurt little boy.

"Hold your head back!" She barked after regaining herself, she swatted his fingers away so she could pinch the bridge of his nose. She accessed the damage, _definitely broken_. "This is going to hurt." She warned, before she gripped his skin and realigned his nose. His loud, girlish scream echoed throughout the drop ship, drifting outside. She had to contain a laugh as she watched him cup his entire face, shaking his head so she wouldn't see his tears. "I'm so sorry, Jasper."

_Stop laughing…_

"Sorry? I was just going to tell you we have a batch done and you attacked me!" He cupped his knee as one of his hands waved around at her. Jasper face was stained with his blood and tears. He continued to raise his voice but was eventually cut off by the sound of footsteps against the metal hatch. The first person she saw was Octavia; her brown hair flying around her face, revealing her worried expression. The next person was Miller, the gun aimed to shoot at whoever attacked Jasper. The last person was the very reason she punched Jasper in the first place. Bellamy Fucking Blake.

Her eyes washed over him like she hadn't seen him in decades rather than hours. He was delectably gorgeous today, although, he looked no different than any other day. His shirt stuck to him because of sweat, his face was touched with ounces of the same excessive worry that Octavia harvested. He looked over at Lincoln, nodding slowly before his face broke out into a smirk. "Nice punch."

_Stop looking at me like that._

"Nice punch? Are you fucking kiddin—" Jasper said, looking back and forth between Clarke and Bellamy before Octavia cleared her throat. She stepped over to her friend.

"Come on Jasper, I'll take care of you." Octavia said, lightly touching his nose only to receive a hiss in response.

"Well okay." Jasper's frown transformed into a cheeky smile as Octavia started to guide him out of the drop ship.

Bellamy lingered but she couldn't say she wasn't enjoying his presence. "I-uh-I have work to do." He stammered before looking down at his feet. "So, I guess I'll see you later."

"Um, yeah." Clarke said, her lip twitching upward for a half a second. "I have work to do, too."

"Okay."

The awkwardness made her uncomfortable. She exhaled as he started to walk out of the drop ship. _Say something, say something… _"Uh, thanks by the way for coming in here. It could have been serious."

"Don't mention it."


End file.
